An Awesome Christmas
by Startled Boris
Summary: While Santa/Finland goes delivering presents around the world, who's left to cook Christmas dinner? How hard can it be, really? Follow our favourite Dane and his best pal, Prussia as they make Christmas one to remember. Guest stars: Finland, Sweden, England, America, Russia, femLatvia, Lithuania, Hungary, Austria... Christmassy sequel to Revelations
1. Chapter 1

**Title: An Awesome Christmas**

**Summary: While Santa/Finland goes delivering presents around the world, who's left to cook Christmas dinner? How hard can it be, really? Follow our favourite Dane and his best pal, Prussia as they make Christmas one to remember. Guest stars: Finland, Sweden, England, America, Russia, femLatvia, Lithuania, Hungary, Austria... Christmassy sequel (of a sorts) to Revelations.**

**Warnings: Drunkeness, some swearing, crack, some of Santa's secrets revealed, implied yaoi.**

Chapter 1

24th December early morning

Santa/Finland sat in his sleigh, holding the reins nervously awaiting the go-ahead from his chief elf. His breath crystallised in the cold air. The final checks were being made. The elves checked the sleigh runners, the harnesses and that the huge sack of parcels (although magically shrunk) was securely tied.

"All ready, Sir?" the chief elf, a rather large (for an elf) 5 foot tall, 2000 year old boy-ish looking person with twinkling eyes asked.

Finland nodded, he glanced at his GPS, at his companion who sat motionless and silent beside him and gave a wave of his hand.

Rudolph at the front, turned and looked at the 'boss' and raised an eyebrow – if a reindeer could do such a thing.

The elves began the countdown, one elf pressed the switch so over a dozen fairy lights lit the runway and the snow began to fall.

"All ready, Ber?" Finland asked his companion nervously.

Berwald nodded imperceptibly and grunted.

Finland took that as a yes, gave the reins a shake, the bells tinkling – his favourite sound in the world – and as the elves got to "One!" the reindeers ran forward.

"Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen and Rudolph! Let's go!" Finland yelled.

"Lift off!" The chief elf shouted.

And, amazingly, despite all the laws of gravity, the reindeer did just that – and soared into the air.

Down on the ground, on the frozen sea ice which was the temporary runway and Santa HQ for that year, the elves began to dismantle everything. "Good job, man!" "Great work!" "See you next year!" "You off to the after work party?" "No, off to Barbados for my annual leave." So was the various shouts between them as they packed the remnants up onto sleighs and began the trek back to Lapland and the permanent Santa HQ.

"Well, that went well... glad that Dude Den person didn't turn up or any of those moronic Nations..." the chief elf confided in his Lieutenant.

The second in command nodded. In past years, they'd had to deal with a drunken but over-jolly Russian who'd scared the reindeers, a very drunken Dane who'd traumatised some of the younger elves by stripping – in sub-zero temperatures – to show them his tattoo of Copenhagen and one awful year when a very loud-mouthed American had turned up with a dreadful aeroplane that he seemed to think would be better than a 'silly old-fashioned sleigh'. They'd only just rescued him from being trampled by nine very angry reindeer.

Besides, no aeroplane, jet or other 'flying monstrosity' as the elves called them, could keep up with the reindeer at full speed.

The chief elf's mobile phone tinkled – Jingle Bells appropriately – and he answered it, "Yes? Ah yes, thank you very much! Yes, he's set off... he should be on your radar now!"

He snapped the phone shut. It had been a relief in way when NORAD first said they would track Santa. With the increasing air traffic – both military and commercial, the elves had gotten more and more concerned about Santa in the past fifty years. The only worry they'd had before had been fog or lightning. At least knowing the military was keeping an eye on things – they'd had a near-miss once with a missile, so now Santa had a military escort when flying over some 'hotspots'. Although as they'd pointed out, time and again to the various Air Forces, the reindeers could fly faster than any fighter jets.

"Humans..." the elf muttered sadly, and shook his head.

* * *

Meanwhile... Helsinki, Finland

"_Matthias,_

_Don't forget to pick up Peter from his friend's party. Everything you need to cook Christmas dinner should be right here. Remember, the turkey needs to be cooked in the oven for four hours in the big tray. All the vegetables you need to boil in the big pan on the stove for as long as it says on the packaging. There should be enough for you and a few friends – don't forget Erik and Emil are coming around at ten pm and they need to be fed, and I should be home soon after that, so don't eat it all! Then again, I don't think even you could..._

_Try not to mess it up,  
Tino."_

"Does he think I'm a moron? I got all day to do this... it's only mid-day... man! I got time to paaaaaaaaaaaaarty!" the tall Dane threw the remnants of a bottle of Carlsberg beer down his throat and laughed.

The doorbell rang. Den yelled ear-splittingly, with the force of a dozen fog-horns, "Hey, Pru, yer lazy sack! Answer the door!"

Prussia, for it was he, staggered out of the living room, a tangle of fairy lights wrapped around his neck, a beer in his hand, a screwdriver – ominously – in the other, a black Santa hat on his head which pronounced the words in white, quite amusingly (he thought): "Ho bloody ho".

"I ain't your servant, answer it yourself! I got my hands full..."

"Yer big jess..." Den answered and grabbed his friend in a big bear hug, "Love ya, Pru..."

"Stop calling me Pru and stop bloody hugging me..." Prussia said within the confines of his bigger friend's arms.

Den let go of him and ruffled his friend's 'awesome' hair but was stopped dead when there was an earth-shattering bang on the door.

"Yer'd better open it, man!" Prussia said.

_BANG._

"Dude...?" Denmark's voice, for once, sounded very small and quiet in the large house.

"I'm right here, man..."

_BANG._

"Wh-what is that?" Denmark tried again to make his voice stop shaking. "I mean, I'm not scared or anything, I'm the King of Northern Europe!"

_BANG. CRASH. CLUNK!_

"Aaargh!" The King of Northern Europe jumped into his best friend's arms as a huge, cloaked figure burst in through what used to be a door. There was a hood covering its face, and it was holding a long, curved object in one gloved hand.

The two Germanic Nations watched in horror as the figure stepped towards them, dragging its feet across the carpet and leaving snow in its wake... then threw back its hood and said cheerfully "_Privet_!"

"I shoulda bloody known it was the commie bastard!" Prussia shouted, and dumped Denmark unceremoniously on the floor.

"Kolkol... Is Tino here?" Russia asked, bending down to stroke a yapping Hanatamago. There was movement behind him as a shorter person stepped carefully through. Whoever it was, was wearing a huge coat that made them look twice as wide as they probably were, and a hood that covered their face. A woolly, gloved hand took down the hood, revealing curly blonde hair, big blue eyes and a scowl. Latvia.

"Dude Chick!" Prussia exclaimed. It had been a while since he'd seen the honorary Awesome Trio member.

"It's bloody cold out there!" Latvia complained, ignoring Gilbert completely. "Did you have to destroy the door? Now it's cold in here, too."

"They locked it." Russia offered by way of explanation, with a shrug.

Apparently, the door wasn't done being crashed through, as a shout of "Latviaaaaaa!" came from outside and a taller figure stumbled through, holding hands with little Dmitri, who had refused to wear a coat. Latvia had instead wound a scarf around the future Nation's neck, a scarf which was longer than the boy was tall and that he kept tripping over.

"_Labas rytas_," Toris said breathlessly, shuddering a bit from the cold.

"Toris had to drive us here," Latvia explained, "Ivan's been suspended from driving again, the big oaf." She looked over at Russia, who shuffled his feet and looked at the floor.

"It said 'McDonald's Drive Through'," he said with another shrug.

"They didn't mean the building!" Latvia scolded.

"Is little Tino here or has he left?" Russia asked.

"Father Frost! Father Frost!" Dmitri jumped up and down excitedly, his big purple eyes shining with excitement. In his rather large hands he held a purple teddy with a medal pinned to its chest.

"S'up with the kid? The guy's called Santa Claus... SANTA CLAUS!" Prussia said slowly with great care and bent down so he was level with the child.

Dmitri answered this by hitting him with 'Comrade Ted', "I don't like you!" the child said with a distinct Latvian accent.

Russia smiled proudly.

"He's gone... set off already... so bye then... have a nice Christmas..." Den indicated the ruins of the door.

Lithuania had already stepped into the kitchen though and was switched on the kettle. "You haven't started cooking your turkey, Mr Denmark?" he called through.

"Aaaargh! No! I haven't! It's nothing to do with you! Go away... we're partying, man!" Den answered and attempted to steer Lithuania, who had already began to pick up some cooking implements and had switched on the oven.

"I wanted to make sure I was on the 'good' list," Russia explained, scooping up his son who was still trying to hit Prussia.

Prussia clutched his nose, "Bugger off," he muttered.

Latvia punched him on the arm, "Don't swear in front of my son," she said.

"Bloody hell, dude chick!" Prussia exclaimed and was rewarded by another smack.

Denmark skidded out of the kitchen, "I had a look at the list... and no, you're not... she is though and Dmitri, Toris is always on the good list... so bye then... see you... don't come back..."

"Not. On. The. Good. List." Russia said this slowly but quietly, his aura suddenly crackled into life and surged around him.

Dmitri clung to his father and pursed his lips, "Bad men in trouble..." the child muttered and looked at Prussia.

"Well... perhaps it's because you put that pipe in that man's head last week?" Latvia said and then attempted to move him. It was like moving a mountain. "He won't be coming to our house any way until the New Year and I'm sure you can do something good by then..." she added.

"That turkey of yours needs stuffing..." Lithuania said, emerging from the kitchen, yellow marigold gloves on, a turkey baster in one hand. He took in the scene. Russia's purple aura, the child, Dmitri (who he was convinced had 666 on his head somewhere) glaring at Prussia, Latvia trying to pull the large Nation out of the doorway (there was no door).

Russia handed Dmitri to Latvia, took the baster out of Lithuania's hands and turned to Prussia and Denmark, "I'm going to do some stuffing!" he said menacingly.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarg h!" The most awesomest Nation and the King of Northern Europe would deny later that they screamed like little girls or that they ran, very fast, out of the back door... but they did.

* * *

Somewhere over Australia

"I like Australia... such a nice country... easy-going... peaceful..." Santa said cheerily as the reindeer touched down in Perth. They'd done Melbourne, Sydney, Canberra. He'd doffed his Santa hat at several Australian children hanging out of their windows to wave at him as he sped by, as well as the Australian Nation himself – leaving to go for a 'midnight' surf.

"Hmmmm," Berwald grunted and studied the list and re-set the GPS.

"We never needed a GPS before... I suppose it makes things a little easier. Can't go missing Papua New Guinea again, can we? And that Christmas I missed Madagascar?"

"Hmmm," Berwald 'answered'.

"It is nice to have company though," Santa continued as they sped out over the Indian Ocean. He waved at the NATO jets flying either side of the sleigh.

It had been Russian MIG fighter jets over northern Asia and now the Americans had taken over as military escort. Tino smiled, it was reassuring. He'd had a few near misses when the Chinese had mistaken him for a rogue missile once and fired on him, also when he'd delivered presents during the War, he'd had a military escort of RAF hurricanes attempting to keep up, but this had just caused trouble.

He was too polite to tell them that they were too slow for the reindeer and he had to keep tugging on the reins for Rudolph to slow down.

The walkie-talkie buzzed and he answered it, pressing the button, "Erm... Roger?"

"All a-okay, Mr Santa, Sir?" one of the pilots asked.

Tino waved. He knew the human pilots could not work out how he was flying with no oxygen mask, no protective pressurised cabin, notwithstanding the fact that the reindeer were flying at speeds of 3 to 4 MACH.

"Yes, thank you! All a-okay!" he said, adopting the Americanism. "See you in a bit in Taiwan!"

"Roger that!" the pilot answered but didn't have chance to disconnect as Santa's sleigh took off with a sonic boom, leaving a trail of glitter and a jingle of bells.

* * *

Helsinki

"Has he gone?" Den asked.

Prussia, his bright white hair stood on end, his black Santa hat gone, the fairy lights broken around his neck, shook his head, "Dunno..."

"Have a look..."

"You have a look..."

The ex Germanic Nation and the Danish Nation were crouched in Finland's garden shed. Prussia was still feeing annoyed that he'd been beaten up by a two year old. He'd only come to Finland's house because he'd been promised a 'wild party with girls, booze and food'. He'd ended up with a punch on the nose and being chased through the house threatened with 'a stuffing' by an insane Russian. Not good.

Denmark opened the door an inch and peered out, careful not to damage his own awesome hairstyle.

He yelped in surprise and not a little fright as an eyeball peered back at him.

"Shit man!" he yelled and jumped back, shoving Prussia back – the latter falling back painfully onto a garden ornament.

"Scheiße!" Gilbert yelled as his bottom met the pointy end of a garden gnome. The gnome had a horrid look on its face, Gil decided.

"Yay! Mr Denmark! We found you!" a cheery Italian voice cut through the chill air.

"You've got to be kidding me..." Prussia said, rubbing his arse and shoving Denmark out of the shed.

"We wondered where you were... me and Luddy-kins have come to see you. We brought presents for you and Mr Sweden and Santa and Mr Norway and then we found the door all burst open and nobody around and Germany was a bit worried and we searched and searched... and there were beer cans all over and your turkey needs putting in the oven... I made pastaaaaaa!" This was all said at 100 miles an hour, arms waving in the air and a huge smile on his cheery face.

"Feliciano! How long have you been here?" Prussia said, elbowing Denmark out of the way.

"About an hour, vee... Germany is sorting out your Christmas tree, he said it was abysmal."

"Rude bugger! Those beer cans were put on that tree for a reason!" Denmark exclaimed.

"Has fat Russkie gone then?" Prussia interrupted.

"I think so! Mr Russia wasn't here when we got here... but we found this!" Feliciano handed the Prussian a note – written in some unidentifiable red liquid.

_"I WILL GET YOU_", it said in spiky writing.

"Awwwww, that kid's come on quick! Who'd have thought he could write that well!" Denmark said and was bashed around the head by Prussia.

"Fool! Russkie dude wrote that... in blood!" Prussia yelled dramatically.

"Actually... I think it's ketchup. I think they had some chips before they left," Italy said.

"Besides I ain't scared of no kid," Prussia said.

"Hmmmmm..."

"I'm bloody not!" Prussia yelled.

"Stop yelling, Bruder!" Germany yelled as he came out of the house. "I sorted out that dreadful Christmas tree, cleaned up your kitchen – which looked as if someone had attempted an invasion..."

"That wasn't us! That was fat Russkie dude..." Prussia said.

"... and his little boyfriend, Toris..." Denmark interjected.

"... and then I did your recycling – all those beer cans are in the green recycling bin," Germany continued, glaring at the two men.

"Awww man! Those beer cans were decorating the tree!" Prussia yelled, utterly appalled.

Germany ignored him and took the fairy lights from around his brother's neck, and held them up between thumb and forefinger. "What happened to these?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

"I had a bit of bother..." Prussia began and was interrupted by the telephone ringing.

"Yo dude, you've reached the most awesomest Dude Denmark, man!" Denmark yelled down the phone.

Approximately 1,080 miles away, Austria held the phone a full arms-length away from his ear in what was probably a vain attempt to save his eardrums. "Er, hello Denmark. May I speak with Finland?"

"He's out, man! Gone to deliver presents. Took Ber with him in his stupid elf costume, hahahaha! Ever seen a 6 foot elf carrying a broadsword? I know I have, man."

"Erm... okay. I just wanted to know about the Naughty or Nice list..."

"Hahaha, duuuuude! S'okay, man, I'm pretty sure you're on the Nice list! Even though you're not nice..."

"I am nice!"

"You're not..."

"I _could_ be nice!"

"Okay, man... Whatever you say..."

Austria took his glasses off and massaged his temples. "I wasn't actually going to ask about myself, I want to know about Switzerland."

Den smiled what he thought was a knowing smile, but which actually looked decidedly perverted... though it didn't matter, because Austria couldn't actually see him. Hanatamago, however, _could_ and ran to hide under the table, whimpering. "He your dude boyfriend, man? Congrats, bro!"

"NO HE IS NOT!" Austria yelled, blushing from both anger and embarrassment. "I wanted to know because that man should be on the Naughty list, he has been very very bad all year."

Denmark continued to do his perverted grin. "So he's _naughty, _huh? You're a lucky guy, dude Austria!"

"I DID NOT MEAN THAT KIND OF NAUGHTY! I mean... He's always doing target practise at dawn and waking me up, and of course there's the way he lets his goats stray onto my yard, and of course the man has no appreciation whatsoever for the piano! He's a barbarian, truly!"

"But you lurrrve heeemm..." Denmark said in a very bad French accent for reasons unknown to anyone, including himself.

"DUDE! Who're you talking to?" Came Prussia's grating voice from the dining room, where he had been watching, in totally awesome silence (for once) while he brother untangled fairy lights and fixed a fuse.

Austria's phone picked up the shout from the ex-Nation, and out of pure fear that he might have to talk to the Prussian, he banged the phone down without saying goodbye.

"HELLLOOOOO? DUUUUUUDE?!" Denmark continued to yell deafeningly down the receiver, before shrugging and hanging up too. "Huh. Guess his boyfriend arrived."

* * *

Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean

Finland/Santa double-checked the co-ordinates. Since the sleigh had had a major overhaul back in the 1960s with radar and now with GPS, it had made it much easier to find their way. Before that, he'd had to occasionally back-track to places he'd forgotten. As it was they seemed to be ahead of schedule. Every-time he came to a major city or town, he did the usual magic – the world would stop turning, effectively stopping time and he would deliver the presents – usually by elf magic – so they flew themselves down the chimney/through windows/doors or any aperture. Occasionally, he would deliver presents himself just to keep the legend alive.

Besides he enjoyed it – especially if children stayed up specially – Finland's special magic camouflage kicked in and they saw the usual fat, jolly white man in a red suit with a long white beard. Sometimes Berwald delivered a few as well. Finland remembered the time he'd taken Russia with him and had been horrified to find that the drunken Russian had stolen vodka wherever he could. He hadn't been allowed on the sleigh after that.

"China done. Japan done. India done... that curry we had was a bit hot wasn't it, Ber? I mean it was nice of India to make us a meal but..."

"Hmmm," agreed Berwald.

"And Mr China and Mr Japan were very welcoming... I didn't know they spent Christmas together... actually I suppose Mr China's government don't really have Christmas being communist... fancy arguing about the moon... I liked Mr Japan's rice balls. They're much better than Mr England's mince pies... I really hope we don't get them again."

Finland continued to chatter as the sledge slowed passing over the border back to Russia. The NATO jets dipped their wings and flew off as Santa's sleigh was joined instead by Soviet jets. Finland waved at them cheerily.

* * *

Helsinki, Finland

"So I made Spaghetti pasta, some carbonara sauce and also a pizza..." Feliciano was telling them.

"Groovy dude!" Denmark mumbled, his mouth full of pizza.

"What about sauerkraut?" Prussia asked, stirring up his bowl of pasta anyway.

"Nein! That pasta and pizza is for when Tino and Berwald get back," Germany said, taking the bowl from his brother's hand.

"We got a turkey for that and..." Denmark said and suddenly realised something – in fact a lightbulb appeared above his head (not literally of course) – they were supposed to cook the turkey for dinner.

"This turkey?" Germany held up the said poultry and turned to the Dane. The bird had a note on it that said "Cook me" in Lithuanian.

"Ja! That's the one!" Denmark said, "We've got to have it ready for when Tino and Ber get back."

Germany shook his head, "I'm no cook but..."

"Si... he is no cook... his sausages are not very good," Italy lamented.

"Kesese! You two kill me!" Prussia laughed.

Germany glared at Italy, "I'm no cook but... that bird is going to take a lot longer than four hours to cook..."

"Four hours? What do you mean, four hours?" Denmark said in a sudden panic.

"Well..." here Germany checked his watch, "It is now five o'clock, ja?"

"We were in that sodding shed for three hours, man?"

"It was Russia, man! Russia! Of course we were in there for three hours..."

Germany sighed and held up a hand for silence, "Santa is due back... at what? Ten o'clock? When all the little children are in bed, ja?"

"Ja, but that's five hours... easy, man!" Denmark said, confidently and grabbed the turkey from the German.

"But it's frozen! Solid!" Germany wacked the turkey on the table – it was indeed still frozen.

"Sod!" Denmark said.

"It was half thawed when idiot Russkie arrived and..." Prussia stopped and considered what he'd just said, "Bloody Russkie froze our turkey!"

"Hmm..." Germany said, having had experience before of Russia's propensity for calling up freezing temperatures, he wasn't about to disagree.

"There's a note on its bum!" Denmark said.

"Do turkeys have bottoms?" Prussia asked.

"Course they have bottoms – where do you think the eggs come from?" Denmark said.

"That's chickens, stupid!" Prussia answered, hitting his friend on the arm.

Denmark ignored him and read the note, _"Your turkey is frozen, da. It is also stuffed. So will you be when I see you. Merry Christmas, Russia!"_

"Fucking nutbag," Prussia muttered and was promptly hit by Germany.

Italy took the turkey from Denmark's hands and shook his head, "Frozen, weighs around 15 pound... I'd say at least 5 hours!" he said and then promptly put it back on the table.

They all looked at the kitchen clock and then back at the frozen bird.

"Right... well... we'll be off then, auf wiedersehen!" Germany said and then added, "Come on, Italy, let's go and leave these idiots..."

"Si, Germany... I'll take my pasta and pizza with me!"

"Wait! Leave the pizza!" Denmark said, in a rather pathetic voice.

Germany and Italy, the latter lovingly wrapping the pasta in a pot, headed for the doorway to bump into an old adversary.

"Honhonhon! Oooh yes! Mon Allemagne! Italie! Petit Feliciano!"

"Eeek! Germany, it's Mr France!"

"Aaaah oui!"

"Bloody hell, who invited frogface?" Prussia asked.

"Well... he's my dude friend and I thought he was your mate? He said he would bring girls..." Denmark said as Germany hurried past the Frenchman, pulling Italy along with him.

"Girls? Well in that case..."

Three scantily-clad women dressed, Germany thought rather scandalously, in tiny 'Santa' outfits stepped in.

"Man! I love you!" Gilbert said, with a tiny bit of a sob.

Author's Notes:

**North Pole – the north pole is actually located on sea ice – the Arctic Ocean is just a frozen ocean much of the winter so have decided that in this story Santa's HQ is just a temporary one for when he sets off, his main one is of course in Lapland.**

**NORAD – NORAD (North American Aerospace Defense Command) do in fact track Santa by satellite, as do the Russian equivalent. The F1 fighter jets that accompany him is just a figment of my imagination – or is it?**

**_Labas rytas – good morning in Lithuanian_**

**Chapter 2 (and the ending) to follow soon (this was going to be a short one-shot but ended up too long).**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

London, England

"Cup of tea? Milk, sugar? Sweden? Milk and sugar for you?" England stood on the doorstep in his dressing-gown and slippers and tried to usher them in.

Berwald shook his head, "Hmmm..." he mumbled.

"I'll take that as a yes," England said, "I say... I've never seen such a tall elf, have you, Bella dear?" he exclaimed and laughed rather self-consciously.

Belarus, also in dressing-gown and large fluffy slippers, her hair in plaits, smiled thinly, "Don't wake Victoria," she said, referring to their daughter, fast asleep (she hoped) upstairs.

Tino nodded, "Well... I suppose we can spare ten minutes... We have your presents here and..."

"Good, good... I baked some cookies just for you, Santa!" England said.

Sweden and Finland exchanged horrified looks. It was the only time Finland could ever remember seeing Sweden look even vaguely nervous.

* * *

Helsinki

Gilbert and Den probably thought the 'party' was now 'rocking' – they had women (scantily-clad women no less) and beer... but it wasn't to be.

The women France had brought were French and, for some reason, were the snootiest, poshest women France could have found.

They turned their noses up at the Carlsberg beer, insisting on wine (which neither of the 'dudes' had), they didn't like Gilbert's rendition of the Preußenlied in burps, and they were less than enthused by Den's stripping.

Francis attempted to teach the two Nations how to 'entice and allure' the 'fairer sex'. (Den and Gil doubted the three women were 'fair' – in fact, they decided that they were distinctly unfair – particularly when they insulted Den's hair.)

But just as Den and Gil lounged across the sofa in what they thought was an alluring and sexy manner, the doorbell rang.

"Who's bloody ringing that? There's no bloody door!" Gilbert announced and shoved his friend off his lap.

"Zay are both gay, non?" one of the women asked Francis, who had two of the women curled on his lap.

Francis shrugged. "I suppose zay are, ma cher... eet eez spending so much time avec moi... zay 'ave fallen for my gorgeousness!"

"Bloody hope it's not Russkie and his idiot family..." Gilbert said.

"You mean that kid who beats you up?" Den asked, going to the door.

"He didn't..." Gilbert began.

But it wasn't 'Russkie and idiot family', it was somebody else, far worse in Den's eyes.

"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PICK ME UP! I'M GOING TO TELL MUM AND DAD!" Peter Kirkland yelled at him. He was stood on the doorstep, complete in a dreadful fancy dress costume.

"Well, we've been busy... we had Russkie dude and then Germany and Italy came here and..."

Peter shoved past him. The child was wet through (it was snowing), shivering and the present he must have got from the party was sodden – the wrapping paper hanging off in shreds.

"Never mind – Merry Christmas eh?" Den said and attempted to shove him upstairs.

"One day I will be a mighty Empire – bigger than Dad, bigger than Jerk England, bigger even than Mr Russia and I will crush you!" Sealand said and sneezed.

"Yeah kid, like, whatever... get upstairs to bed and I'll come up and read the next chapter in Goldilocks and the three Vikings..." Den said, ushering Sealand up the stairs.

He almost got away with it too, but Sealand heard France's 'honhonhon' and stopped and turned and looked at his 'Uncle Den'.

"Mum and Dad said he wasn't allowed over..." he said.

"Yeah well..."

"...or girlies!" Sealand said the last word with pronounced horror. "I'm going to tell on you!"

Den shoved the child upstairs, "Listen, Petey, my little mate... my best pal..."

"You called me a little shit this morning and you said you would shove my head in the food blender... Mr Russia said that one day he will teach me to..." Peter broke off as Den put a hand over his mouth.

"I'll make you a deal!" Den said finally after dragging the child to the top of the stairs.

* * *

Mid-Atlantic Ocean

"I shouldn't do this... the last time I dropped Mr England's mince pies over the side, back in 1942 I think, I sank some German warships..." Finland said apprehensively. He glanced at his companion. "What do you think, Ber? Is there anybody below us?"

Berwald glanced over the side of the sleigh at the rolling waves of the Atlantic below them, "Hmmm..." he answered.

"Ooookay..." Finland said and dropped England's 'cookies' – which alarmingly glowed blue and green – over the side.

* * *

Helsinki

"I'm not giving you part of my kingdom, you little..." Den yelled. The tall Dane was stood outside the bathroom while Peter brushed his teeth and got in his pyjamas.

"Copenhagen?"

"Or Copenhagen! It's my capital city! Sod off!"

"I'll take Greenland off your hands... it can become part of my new Empire!" Peter said as he emerged from the bathroom in 'Jedi' pyjamas.

"No! Get in that bed you little git..." Denmark yelled and shoved the child into his bedroom. "If you're not asleep soon, Santa won't come..."

"You can't pull the Santa business with me, Uncle Den. I know... and Mum always brings me stuff anyway...And when I'm King of the World..."

Den didn't wait to hear any more about the small Principality's bid to take over the world, he skidded down the banister as he heard the three women taking their leave.

"Au revoir!" they called in unison.

"Don't go..." he called, rather pathetically.

Gil leaned against his friend and said, with a burp in his ear, "They think your home smells funny... I told them it was you. They're not for us, dude, they're way too posh. They didn't think it was funny when I told them about when you and me rode that horse through the German Embassy... and when I told them we'd been on tour promoting Hawaiian Tropic with forty guys..."

"...They think we're gay! I ain't gay!" Den protested.

"Au revoir then, my leetle lurvers!" Francis purred, patted Den on the arse, ruffled Gil's hair (much to his utter horror) and slithered out of the door.

"We're not gay!" Den yelled after the French contingent.

Gilbert shook his head and lit a cigarette, "Why do people assume that about us?" he asked, genuinely perplexed and scratched his most awesome head.

Den flung an arm around his friend and shrugged, "Dunno..."

* * *

Washington DC

If Berwald/Sweden was impressed that Finland had speeded up the reindeer so that they'd delivered all the presents on the eastern seaboard of America and left the capital until last, he didn't say so.

"Just the mid-west and the western seaboard to do, south America and then we can go home... just a bit of jiggery pokery and a bit of magic and..." Finland stopped the sleigh and jumped out.

"Yo! Finlandia! Groovy! How did you do that? Man! You were so fast! My USAF jets couldn't keep up... you should hear them... they kept losing you!" Alfred stepped forward, his face alight like a child's with wonder.

"Mr America, I've explained this to you every year for the past..."

America interrupted, "Please don't tell me Artie gave you mince pies again?"

"No... not this time... cookies..."

"You can give them to us and we'll contain them. My men here have a lead-lined container. That should keep them from harming anyone for over a thousand years..."

"It's alright – we threw them over the side..."

"Into the Atlantic?" America asked and looked appalled. "Man! What were you thinking? This could be worse than the Exxon oil spill!"

"Err well... wait... what? What men?" Finland looked around as six large, black-suited men in dark glasses surrounded him.

"Can you come with us for a minute, Santa?" one of them asked.

"It's just the CIA, dude. They want to know how you do... you know..." America explained.

Sweden was having none of this. He jumped off the sleigh, unsheathed his broadsword and stepped forward.

The CIA stepped back.

"Er yeah... Sweden's here as my bodyguard. I would tell your men to back off," Finland said, "You can't detain me, I have work to do."

"Sir, we just need to know how you go so fast," one of the men said.

"Yeah, dude! And how do you speed up time and ... then you slowed it down..." America scratched his head. It was all very perplexing. More perplexing than England's cookery even.

"Magic!" Finland said simply and he nodded at Sweden, who put away his sword. They both climbed back in the sleigh.

Finland waved a hand and sparkly glitter like tiny stars landed around him. "Merry Christmas everyone!" he called, shook the reins, the bells tinkled and the reindeer took off, the sleigh lifted up several metres.

Sweden frowned and "hummphed" as one of the CIA men said excitedly, "Do it again!"

Santa/Finland waved a hand again, "It's magic!" he called and again a flurry of golden and silver glitter fell around him as the sleigh rose higher and higher and then was gone in cloud of stars.

"Quick get the glitter... pick it up... get a test tube... get it to the lab..." the men shouted at each other and scrambled on the floor.

"Wow! Awesome!" America said, his jaw dropping, looking up at the night sky in awe, completely unaware of the scramble around him.

* * *

Helsinki

"Don't think that's gonna work, mate," Gilbert said, wisely as Den attempted to shove a 15 pound turkey into the microwave.

"Man! We are in trouble... this was supposed to be cooked. Santa and Ber will be back soon and Norge is coming and that little kid Icy... he thinks I'm a doofus anyway..."

"Man... that ain't gonna go in there..."

"Give it a shove then!"

"You take the bottom..."

"I ain't doing that, it's all slimy!"

"Don't stick your fingers there!"

"Bloody hell, what's up this thing?"

"Bloody Toris already stuffed it!"

"That's disgusting."

"Just shove it in there!"

This conversation was conducted at full volume with lots of huffing and puffing, grunting and groaning.

Suddenly, there was a thud from upstairs, "Dirty Uncle Den! Shut up messing about with your pervert friend! I can't sleep!"

"Bloody kid! We ain't doing nothing!"

"Ja!"

The kitchen window suddenly flew open and a face loomed in, "I thought you were... you know... I've got my camera ready and everything! I mean... especially when Francis turned up..."

"Hungary!" Den was appalled.

"Liz!" Prussia said in a less appalled voice.

"Don't call me that," Hungary said as she climbed in. She dusted down her skirts and glared at them.

"What did you think we were doing?" Den asked.

"Oh come on... you two are so together..." she said, her hands on her hips.

"They're boyfriends!" came a voice from upstairs.

"Shut the bloody hell up before I shut you up and get to sleep!" Denmark yelled.

"We've had girls here!" Pru remonstrated.

"Yes and they left," Hungary said and arched an eyebrow.

"Well, they were snobs anyway. I mean how could they possibly resist us – especially the Awesome Me, the sex machine?" Prussia puffed his chest out.

Hungary batted him on the chest and gave him a shove, "Well, I have to be off. I left Austria in charge of Amadeus..." she glared at Prussia and Denmark, daring them to giggle at the name. (Prussia had to hide his face behind Den's back.) "... and he's supposed to be starting off the Christmas dinner for tomorrow..."

"He rang here!" Den blurted out.

"He did? Why?" Hungary stopped as she was about to leave and spun around.

Prussia spluttered out, "Kesese! Amadeus! What a gay name! Takes after his..." he got no further as Hungary took the turkey out of Den's hands and shoved the now almost-thawed bird onto the Germanic ex-Nation's awesome head – bottom first.

Den laughed uproariously as his friend staggered around the kitchen attempting to pull the 15 pound bird off his head.

"Why did he ring here?" Hungary asked the Dane and backed up her question with her frying pan under his chin.

"Gulp... he wanted to know if he was on the 'good' list," Den answered.

"Spitzy..." came a mumbled voice from inside a dead turkey.

"Sorry, I mean he asked if Switzerland was on the 'good' list," Den amended quickly.

"Why did he need to know that?" Hungary asked, partly to herself, partly to Denmark and partly to the man with his head stuck inside the turkey.

"Wunno..." came the mumbled reply from the turkey, "Way..."

"He means gay..." Den said helpfully.

Hungary responded with this declaration that her husband may be homosexual by bashing both Nations around the head several times with her frying pan until they were prone on the floor and then, after helping herself to a slice of pizza and a can of beer, left.

* * *

Some time later...

Den and Gilbert came to consciousness wrapped in each other's arms. Den shrieked when he found himself face to face with a dead and plucked turkey.

"Bet viz off my 'ed!" Prussia mumbled from inside the dead bird.

Den grabbed the bird and tugged and tugged. "It won't bloody move!"

"I can hear you down there! You're both weird!" Peter shouted from his bedroom.

"Shaddap, kid!" Den shouted back. He glanced at the clock – 9.30 pm, they'd wasted all day on being chased by an insane Russian, being insulted by France and three women, beaten up by Hungary, arguing with Sealand, not including the idiot telephone conversation with Austria and they'd still not cooked the turkey. He was in trouble.

Summoning up a thousand year of Viking strength, he gave the turkey an almighty pull as Prussia braced himself against the table. Denmark found himself flying backwards through the air and landed in the sink with a turkey in his hands.

Prussia almost wept with joy, "Aw thanks man! I thought I was going to have to spend Christmas with that thing on my head... not awesome man!"

Denmark jumped out of the sink, opened the microwave door, slammed the turkey in (still wearing the note from Toris) and forced the door shut.

"Thirty minutes should do it, ja?" Denmark said to Prussia.

Prussia was unsure about this, his IQ was only slightly higher than Denmark's (which wasn't saying a lot) and he didn't really think this plan was a good one. As plans go, he thought, it ranked slightly higher than invading Russia and lower than trolling Austria when the said Alpine Nation was having a quiet lunch with his neighbours.

"Erm... dude?"

"Ja?" Den asked, ruffling his hair and looking wide-eyed at the light blinking on and off in the microwave, the huge turkey not going round on the plate as it should...

"I'm not sure this is a good..." Prussia didn't get chance to finish his sentence as there was a huge boom.

Denmark caught the full force of the blast as a 15 pound turkey and Samsung microwave exploded in his face.

"...Idea..." Prussia finished lamely.

Lesser, younger Nations may have been knocked out by the blast. Denmark was actually made of quite stern stuff (notwithstanding Hungary's frying pan of course) and straightened up with bits of metal and raw turkey hanging from his hair.

"Ooooh..." the Dane said.

"Awww man... there's turkey all over the kitchen!" Prussia looked around and, it was true – there was raw turkey hanging from the lampshade, the ceiling, the oven, the chairs, it was scattered on the floor and splattered the walls.

"Hmm... that didn't go according to plan," Den said thoughtfully.

"No shit, Sherlock! When did you get a BA in the bleeding obvious?" Pru snapped, looking around the kitchen in dismay.

"Well, what bright ideas do you have then, Herr Shittingmeinpants?"

"No-one calls me that! Not any more! You'd better shut up or I'll punch you!"

"You can't do anything without that bruder of yours... what yer gonna do, ring him up and ask him to hold your dress while you try and hit me?"

"I've never worn a dress... not this century anyway! And besides you're crapping your pants cos Mom and Dad'll be back in a bit and big Ber only has to look at you and you piss your trousers!"

"They're not my mum and dad!"

It was the final straw for Den as he launched himself at the smaller man, wrestled him to the floor and got him in a headlock, his legs wrapped around the Prussian's waist.

"Get off me yer big lumpen idiotic Viking nutbag..." Prussia shouted, struggling under the Dane's heavier weight.

Den started to rub flour, remnants of stuffing and bits of pizza into his friend's hair and yelled, "I ain't a nutbag!" as the Prussian struggled and jerked so that it looked as if Denmark was on a rodeo.

"Gerroff meeeee!" Prussia yelled, "I am the great awesome one... no-one sits on my back and..."

There was a loud cough from the doorway which made both Nations stop and look around.

Denmark slowly got off his friend's back and dragged him to his feet.

In the doorway stood a rather short but grumpy looking, blond-haired man, his hair clipped in two barrettes, wearing a rather sober navy blue uniform.

"Norgie!" Denmark yelled happily and grabbed his friend in a hug.

'Norgie' winced and shoved the taller Nation off him, "Don't call me that, you fool."

"Kesese! I thought it was fat commie come back to stuff us," Prussia said, in obvious relief.

Norway looked around the devastation that used to be Finland and Sweden's kitchen and whistled between his teeth, shaking his head.

Sealand appeared behind him, in his pyjamas and dressing gown. "You're both in soooooo much trouble when Mom and Dad gets back. Dad said last time he caught you wrecking the house he was going to stick his sword in..."

Norway turned around and deftly grabbed the child by his head and steered him back up the stairs, "Bed. Now!" He told the young boy.

"Awwww... man, I miss all the fun!"

"Norgie, my mate, my bestest bestest friend that ever was..." Denmark began to say, a large piece of raw turkey hung from his less than awesome hair and there was a large bruise on the side of his head where Hungary had hit him. He didn't look like he was having a good day.

"Hay, I thought I was your best mate?" Prussia interrupted.

Norway raised an eyebrow.

Denmark, who could not have kept his voice low if his life depended on it (which it actually did at that moment) said, "Shut yer mouth... I might be able to get Norgie to clean up for us... Play along with me..."

Prussia frowned, as his IQ was not in single figures like Den's, he could see a flaw in this plan.

'Norgie' continued to frown and looked from one Nation to the other.

"Come on, Norgie... you know you love me? Help me tidy up... you don't want to see me with a sword embedded in my awesome head, do you?"

Norgie's eyebrows shot up, the image seemed to make him smile.

"Pretty please... with Viking sparkly bits on top?" Den asked, sounding more and more desparate.

"Sparkly bits?" Prussia couldn't believe what he was hearing, "Kesese!" he laughed uproariously, "Vikings are gay, man!" he yelled.

There was silence, Denmark and Norway both turned to look at him.

"Well... maybe, not you two..." Prussia said hurriedly as they advanced on him. "I'm sure you're both the manliest, most butch Vikings I've personally met..."

There was a crash as the two Vikings fell on him.

* * *

Vancouver, Canada

"Last stop, Ber and then we can go home and have dinner!" Finland said as they touched down. He waved to the escort jets as they hovered in the sky and then dipped their wings and sped off.

"Santa! Mr Sweden! So nice to see you! Coffee and pancakes? We have maple syrup," the young man approaching them looked very much like America, but for one thing, his voice was quiet and mild.

"Seasons greetings, Matthew and Mr Kimajura," Finland patted the polar bear on the head. "Nice to see you, our last stop and then we've got to get going back to Helsinki for Christmas Eve," Finland said, he pulled the now almost empty sack off the sleigh and handed Canada a parcel.

"Christmas Eve? M...m...maple... you're not going to make it, Mr Santa. It's past midnight and Christmas Day already," Canada said. He pushed his spectacles up his nose and smiled nervously. He was actually rather happy that, for once, he hadn't been totally overlooked or mistaken for his brother.

"That's not a problem. Time means nothing to me!" Santa said with a wink and then he said, indicating the parcel, "Open that – you'll like it, I'm sure."

"A sweater! With a maple leaf on it! Thank you so much, Mr Santa!" Canada laughed happily, "No-one will mistake me for America again."

Canada pulled the sweater on and twirled – a little too girlishly, Finland and Sweden both thought.

"There's also a present for Mr Kumajiro," Finland said.

"Oh thank you... oh here look! It's a scarf!" Canada wrapped the polar bear cub in the long blue and pink woollen scarf.

"Mr Russia sent it, I think he knitted it himself," Finland said, reading the gift-tag.

Canada hesitated but then shrugged, "Well, Kimajero does go and visit Mr Russia from time to time, don't you, boy?"

Finland and Sweden exchanged glances, and shudders, "Poor little guy..." Finland muttered, he then straightened his Santa hat, tightened his belt, whistled his reindeer – who had been grazing on Canada's lawn, and climbed back in his sleigh, "Right, we have to be off, thanks for the offer of refreshments, but I have to be back and see what destruction Denmark and Prussia have brought on my home. Merry Christmas!"

Canada waved as the sleigh disappeared into the night sky leaving a trail of gold and silver stars. He turned to his polar bear cub, "Well, that was nice, wasn't it, Mr Kumajiro? No-one will mistake me for Alfred in this sweater will they?"

The polar bear cocked its head to one side and said, "Who are you?"

* * *

Helsinki

Chaos and destruction had indeed visited Finland's once lovely neat and tidy house. However, both agents of the destruction were sat at the kitchen in varying states of distress. Prussia had a black eye – administered by his friend – for calling Vikings 'gay', Denmark had a large lump on his head – administered by Norway – for trying to hug the small Norwegian. Both Denmark and Prussia had had a telling-off by Norway, interspersed with shouts from Sealand in his bedroom above.

"And now you're both going to clean up," Norway told them, handing each a mop and bucket.

"Piss off!"

"Sod off!"

Norway sighed and shook his head as if he were dealing with a pair of naughty children. "So... you wanted a party eh? With girls, eh?" he asked, patiently.

"Yeah, man... but all we got were Francis' snooty ladeeez..." Prussia snorted.

Norway smiled, "I've got some girls with me," he said.

Denmark and Prussia looked at each other disbelievingly, "No way, man!"

"Yes, way man..." Norway smiled a horrid smile and then called, "Oh Grendel... Haldrid!"

Prussia and Denmark grinned at each other, "You are the best, man!" Denmark said to Norway.

"These chicks can clean up... and then we can have some fun before..." Prussia didn't get to finish his sentence as the floor shook from heavy footsteps. It sounded as if a herd of elephants were stampeding through the house.

"What the fu..." Denmark began.

The door-frame to the kitchen almost burst as two of the hugest creatures Prussia had ever seen thwomped in. Thwomp is the only word that can describe the noise the two individuals made as they entered the small, once cosy kitchen.

"Yurg?" one of them said to Norway.

"Yes, Grendel... these two... they won't do as I say!" Norway said sadly, a glint in his eye.

"It's a troll!" Denmark said with dismay, "Fu..."

He didn't get to finish as 'Grendel' picked him up with one hand and shook him.

"_She'_s a troll," Norway said with satisfaction.

The two trolls were easily 2 metres high, and probably as wide again. Both wore some kind of fur which didn't, unfortunately for Prussia and Denmark, totally cover their huge, muscular hairy legs.

"That's a _she_?" Prussia said, wonderingly and was promptly picked up by Haldrid. However, Haldrid chose to pick the Germanic Nation up by his calf with one hand and lift him high above her head so he was upside down – and then face to face with her.

"Warag?" Haldrid asked.

"Yes, he does have bad breath," Norway agreed. "Anyway, boys, I suggest you clean up. My trollesses don't like dirty kitchens.

"Well... they can kiss my arse!" Prussia exclaimed.

Denmark shook his head frantically at his friend. This was a bad thing to say, he knew from bitter experience.

Haldrid laughed and shook her matted black hair (although 'fur' would be a more suitable description for what was on her head) and scrunched up her huge nose, "Farag gor bog!" she said and dropped Prussia on the floor.

Norway laughed, "She said that she's not that desperate..."

Denmark, who was still dangling from Grendel's hand like a puppet, tried to prise her hand from around his neck, "Thanks chick... but yer know... like... erm... don't call me, I'll call you..."

He too was dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

Norway was laughing, as were the trollesses – their laughter causing the windows in their frames to shake, their huge bellies to roll. One of them rummaged in a rather incongruous pink handbag and took out a large club and waved it at Denmark.

"Right, time to clean up, you two... and then they'll cook dinner..." Norway told them.

"They will? They'll cook?"

"They said so... but they refuse to cook in this disgusting squalor," Norway affirmed.

"Let's do this, man!" Denmark whispered to Prussia.

And they did. It was probably the first, and last time that either of them had handled a mop and bucket. Prussia occasionally cleaned at his brother's house – under duress, but he had never mopped a floor before – that was woman's work, he'd long ago decided. It was a man's job to go to war and defend the homeland. To Den, it was a revelation, he had never cleaned anything before, and actually got quite into scrubbing and put on Berwald's pair of pink marigold gloves and polished the wooden table.

"If we ask them nicely, do you think they'll beat up fat commie dude for me?" Prussia asked Norway, in between scraping raw turkey from the wall.

Norway smiled, "I'll ask them," he said and then said, "Haldrid, Grendel? Gabag vag torog Russkie vos nutters?"

"Did he just call us nutters?" Prussia asked Den.

Denmark shrugged and continued polishing the kitchen table, "Shut up, man, look how this wood comes up with a bit of linseed oil!"

"You've changed, man..." Prussia said sadly.

"They said yes, but only if you buy them dinner first," Norway told Prussia.

* * *

Half an hour later or thereabouts, Finland, now divested of his Santa 'uniform', together with Sweden (who had also took off his elf costume) walked into the kitchen.

He took one look at the kitchen and fainted in shock.

Sweden caught him in his arms.

Prussia, Denmark and Norway all shouted "Merry Christmas!" and threw sparkly glitter in the air.

The table was laid, there were glasses full of wine, vegetables steaming, and in the centre of the table was a fully-cooked turkey, already to be carved.

"I can't believe you actually did it!" Finland gasped.

"Hmmm," Sweden grunted.

"We're just awesome!" Prussia said and took a big swig of beer.

"Hahaha! And you thought we'd wreck the place..." Denmark said and glanced at Norway nervously.

Norway just smiled.

"...and the turkey's cooked wonderfully!" Finland said, carving the bird and utterly amazed that it hadn't been incinerated, blasted to smithereens or even half eaten.

"It's like magic!" Denmark said with childlike wonder and was roughly nudged in the ribs on one side by Prussia and told to 'shush' and kicked under the table by Norway on the other.

"Troll magic..." Norway muttered.

"Well, it's absolutely lovely and I take back everything I said about you," Finland said, "Don't we, Sweden?"

"Hmmm."

"Just carve that turkey and dish it up, dude Santa... we got somewhere to be soon," Prussia said, looking at the clock nervously.

"But it's ten o'clock at night!" Finland said.

Pru and Den exchanged glances. "We got a date..." Denmark said slowly, but with the voice of someone announcing they were going to the dentist.

"Both of you?" Finland frowned.

Norway sniggered.

"Ja... both of us. Do you think we can't get dates? Two beautiful..."

Norway had to shove a piece of bread in his mouth to stop himself from laughing.

"...Ladies," Denmark emphasised.

"Yes, you'd better hurry up, because if you're late..." Norway didn't need to finish the sentence. They'd been warned that if they were late for their dinner dates then the magic would all be undone.

There was a shout from the bedroom upstairs, "And Uncle Den – you owe me **Ejlinge** – or you know what will happen!"

"What does he mean?" Finland asked Denmark.

"I have no idea..." Denmark shrugged. Really, he thought, giving the kid one of his uninhabited islands – that surely can't hurt can it? The kid seemed to think it was as big as Greenland.

"Well... Merry Christmas everyone!"

**Author's Notes:**

**MACH – refers to the ratio of the speed of an object through a fluid and the local speed of sound. MACH 1 is the speed of sound. So, 3-4 MACH is very very fast (much of today's modern combat aircraft can do these speeds). How else does Santa get around the world so fast?**

**Please note: I kind of followed Tino's, er I mean Santa's route around the world according to NORAD...**

**As always PMs, reviews etc are welcome. This was written as a story of goodwill, peace etc to all. (I also really enjoyed writing it.)**


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